God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
Writing Poems

Writing poems with letters 
that must tell of pits 
full of murdered Jews, 
which smoke 
with the smoke of six million –
perhaps I should forget the alphabet, 
rip it out of my memory 
like a weed? 
And nothing was, 
nothing will be –
only desert, 
burning sun, 
stone.
 

Translated by Barnett Zumoff

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